


a brief interlude

by psidn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5790595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psidn/pseuds/psidn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamaguchi illegally boards the third car of a southbound train at 7:55PM, while on the run from the police. Tsukishima passes through the third car on his way to the dining room car at the same time. He helps Yamaguchi hide. If the train leaves at 8PM, and goes at 40mph, making two scheduled stops and one unscheduled stop, then on a scale of 1 to 10, how fucked is Yamaguchi:</p>
<p>a) metaphorically?</p>
<p>b) literally?</p>
<p>(or, a North by Northwest AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a brief interlude

**Author's Note:**

> a few months ago i made a mostly serious post about Tsukishima being a Hitchcock blond (blond, attractive, smart, emotionally distant...) and sk was like "well?" and i didn't have anything more to say on the matter. but i rewatched North by Northwest a while ago and then i had more to say! i do think a full AU would be hard to pull off, so here's just the train scene.
> 
> (as usual, lots of thanks to [sk](http://stoppit-keepout.tumblr.com)/[toomanyhometowns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanyhometowns/) <3333)

Yamaguchi lifts his sunglasses to take a better look at his wristwatch. The second hand steadily ticks towards 7:54PM, and he sighs, thinking. With the kind of luck he’s had these past few days, the 8PM train is bound to be fully booked.

He lets his sunglasses drop back to the bridge of his nose and he straightens the lapels of his suit. He’d gotten it pressed just yesterday too, since he’d been planning on going to the theatre in the evening with Yachi and Hinata, but with one thing and another (getting kidnapped, spending the night at a police station, getting framed for murder, etc.), he’d missed the show and gotten his suit wrinkled.

Trying his best to look busy and not suspicious at all, Yamaguchi heads towards a ticket booth.

“A ticket for the 8PM train to Tokyo, please,” he says.

“Leaving in five minutes,” says the man at the ticket booth, casually, like he wants to have conversation about it.

“Yes, I know,” Yamaguchi says, leaning forward. “I would still like it.”

“I _think_ it’s fully booked,” says the man. 

“Definitely?” Yamaguchi asks.

“Probably. You’re in a hurry, huh?”

Yamaguchi smiles his most patient smile. “Quite. When’s the next train after that?”

“Oh,” the man says, “oh, 10PM.”

That won’t do at all. Yamaguchi can see police officers loitering by the doors to the train station, and he can’t lay low in one place for two hours. “Could you call to make sure the train hasn’t some vacancy?” 

“What’re the sunglasses for?” the man asks. “Something wrong with your eyes?”

“Are you going to do your job?” Yamaguchi asks back, holding his sunglasses in place.

“Alright, alright,” the man says, and he gives Yamaguchi a good look before looking at something on his desk. “Don’t go away,” he says pleasantly, before turning away to place a call.

A sense of dread overcomes Yamaguchi. Surely there wouldn’t already be photos of him circulating, would there? Better to not risk it; Yamaguchi flees before the man can end what must be a call to the police.

He weaves through the crowd, trying not to bring too much attention to himself while going as quickly as he can, until he finds the Tokyo train. He’s under suspicion for a lot worse than not buying a train ticket, so he walks along the train until he finds an open door, and then lets himself in.

Confidence. He’s still learning to pull it off, but it’s what fools most people.

In the grey-walled train corridor, the doors to individual compartments stretch on all the way to the end. Just when Yamaguchi notes with relief that there’s no one else there, a tall blond man comes out of one of the compartments, and Yamaguchi bumps right into him. He takes a step back, and looks up. 

He’s beautiful. Yamaguchi’s sure he must be gaping. The man gives him a cold smile and raises his eyebrows, the light shining off his glasses. Then the shrill sound of a police whistle comes. 

“Oops,” Yamaguchi says, and ducks into the compartment the man had come out of.

He doesn’t turn the lights on, just presses his ear against the door so that he can hear what happens.

“Hello, officers,” says the man, and Yamaguchi inwardly sighs at the sound of his voice. It’s so smooth and self-assured.

The police must have said something while Yamaguchi was quietly swooning, since the man replies, “Oh, with all the freckles? Yes, he ran past me just now, that way.”

Yamaguchi holds his breath while the police officers go in a direction that is most definitely not the compartment Yamaguchi is hiding in. He lets out his breath in relief and, after a good wait, opens the door. 

The man is still there, and he’s staring at Yamaguchi.

“You know how it is,” Yamaguchi says, smiling. “Overdue library fines.”

The man smiles back. “You must be an _avid_ reader,” he says, before turning to walk away.

“That’s me,” Yamaguchi mutters to himself, adjusting his sunglasses. “The avid reader with all the freckles.”

\--

Yamaguchi hides in the small train washroom while tickets get checked. He splits his time between trying to get his hair to lie flat and pointing finger guns at the mirror in more and more dramatic poses. Better than letting his anxieties run loose. 

When he thinks it might safe, Yamaguchi steps out with the best air of dignity he can pull off. He suspects the stint in the washroom further wrinkled his suit, and that his sunglasses are starting to look more and more ridiculous.

To the right is the dining room car. Yamaguchi hasn’t eaten since breakfast with his mother, and he has no compartment of his own, so he heads in.

The steward takes him right to a table by the window, and who should be sitting across from him but the blond man from earlier?

Yamaguchi undoes the single button on his blazer and sits down, picks up the menu. The man smiles at him. It’s a very nice smile, if one likes feeling like they’re being analyzed down to their very core. (Yamaguchi does, in this case, even though it seems like a dangerous thing to enjoy while he’s still on the run.)

“Well here we are again,” Yamaguchi says, squinting through his dark lenses to try to read the menu.

“Yes,” the man says. He continues to smile. 

Yamaguchi nods and brings his attention back to the menu. 

“You could take your sunglasses off,” the man says.

“I certainly could,” Yamaguchi says. “But they’re just so comfortable, see.”

“I can tell.” The man lifts his teacup and looks over the rim while he takes a sip.

Yamaguchi can feel his face warm, but he ignores it in favour of pointing at something, anything, on the menu when the waiter comes by.

“Thank you,” he says to the waiter as the menu is cleared away and he’s given a glass of water.

The man’s still staring at him from across the table.

Yamaguchi purposefully looks behind himself. Then he turns back around, adjusts his sunglasses, holds his hands out. “Oh I know,” he says. “I look very familiar, don’t I?”

“Yes,” the man says, and gives a slow, thoughtful nod.

“I get that a lot,” Yamaguchi lies, but makes it sound like he’s confiding. “It’s something about my face.”

“It’s a nice face,” the man says, not breaking his composure at all.

Yamaguchi nearly knocks over his glass of water. “Don’t go giving me wrong ideas… sir.”

“Tsukishima Kei,” Tsukishima says. “And what kind of ideas?”

Yamaguchi takes his sunglasses off to wipe them and to get a better look at Tsukishima. He really is handsome, in an untouchable way, and Yamaguchi’s sure his leg is being pulled. He tucks his glasses into the front pocket of his blazer and finally says, “Ideas like you telling me the truth.”

“About your face?” Tsukishima says, widening his eyes. “Why would I lie about that?”

Yamaguchi clears his throat.

Tsukishima leans across the table. “I was hoping you’d get a different wrong idea.”

“Don’t make me say it, now,” Yamaguchi says. “Since I’m not the one who’s propositioning a total stranger on a train.”

Tsukishima smiles, a much sharper, truer smile than all his previous ones. “What, you never discuss love on an empty stomach?” Yamaguchi laughs something flustered at that, and Tsukishima presses on. “You’re not such a stranger. I know you’re Yamaguchi Tadashi, wanted for murder all across the country.”

“Oops,” Yamaguchi whispers. The waiter comes right then, slips a plate in front of Yamaguchi. Once he leaves, Yamaguchi considers making a break for it.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Tsukishima says, and Yamaguchi is certain that that’s Tsukishima’s foot stepping on his own. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“How come?” Yamaguchi asks.

“Like I said, you have a very nice face.” Tsukishima’s foot presses down, like to make a point. “And it’s going to be a very long night.”

“O-oh,” Yamaguchi says. “What a set of reasons!”

“They are quite impressive, aren’t they?” Tsukishima says, with a self-satisfied look out the window.

“Well, I’d invite you to my room,” Yamaguchi says, blustering past his embarrassment. “But I haven’t even got a ticket to call my own.”

Tsukishima makes a thoughtful sound. “How sad. And here I am with an entire room to myself.” He looks back at Yamaguchi over the top of his glasses. “3901, in the third car. Just in case.”

“I’ll remember that,” Yamaguchi says, searing the number into this mind. “3901.”

Tsukishima stands up, brushes off the front of his suit. “Incidentally, I wouldn’t order dessert if I were you.”

“I get the message,” Yamaguchi says, impressed at himself for playing it so cool.

Tsukishima smirks. “That isn’t exactly what I meant.” He glances out the window. “This train seems to have made an unexpected stop, and I just saw two men get out of a police car as it pulled into the station.” He shakes his head a little. “They weren’t smiling.”

\--

Yamaguchi narrowly escapes the police by hiding in the upper foldaway bed in compartment 3901, third car. It’s a tight squeeze, and it’s hard to breathe, but he comes out of it not-arrested, so all-in-all it’s a success. 

He also comes out of it in a tumble, falling right into Tsukishima’s arms.

“Well here we are again, again,” he says, trying to breathe normally while wrapped up in a very handsome man’s embrace.

“Yes,” Tsukishima says with a slow nod. He helps Yamaguchi sit on the lower bed, and slips his hand into Yamaguchi’s breast pocket. He pulls out one half of Yamaguchi’s broken sunglasses. “Seems like your disguise didn’t make it.”

“Oh,” Yamaguchi breathes out. He’d grown fond of them. “Throw them out then, I don’t need them where I’m going.”

Tsukishima tosses them into a garbage can in the corner, and opens the window of the train compartment, letting in cool air. “Tokyo?” he asks, settling himself next to Yamaguchi on the bed. “What are you planning on doing there?”

“I’m going to track down the man I keep getting mistaken for,” Yamaguchi says. He sighs, closes his eyes, the stress from the last 24 hours catching up. “Maybe he’ll have some answers.”

“Want a smoke?” Tsukishima asks, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. When Yamaguchi nods, he taps out two cigarettes into his palm. “Have you got a light?”

Yamaguchi pulls out his matches and lights one of them. When he looks up he sees that Tsukishima’s already stuck both cigarettes into his mouth, and is looking back at him, soft and serious.

His hand doesn’t shake when he holds up the match. Tsukishima leans forward and cups his hand around Yamaguchi’s wrist, tugging it forward. He slips his thumb under Yamaguchi’s shirt cuff, presses it against the pulse point that must be betraying how fast Yamaguchi’s heart is beating. Tsukishima angles his head to comfortably reach the match with his two cigarettes, and once they’re lit, he leans back without letting go of Yamaguchi’s wrist.

He brings his other hand up to the cigarettes and takes a drag from them, then turns his head to the side to let out a stream of smoke. In profile he’s just as attractive, and looking at the bare line of his throat above his shirt collar is like looking at art. 

Finally, Tsukishima turns back and leans forward again, blows out the little flame on the match that Yamaguchi had still been holding. He gives a little squeeze before letting go of Yamaguchi’s hand, and holds out one of the cigarettes for him.

“Got it warmed up for you,” he says, as Yamaguchi takes it. 

“Thanks,” Yamaguchi says, after clearing his throat. “It’s greatly appreciated.”

They smoke in silence and Yamaguchi watches the scenery pass by through the window. The lights hadn’t been turned on when he’d come into the compartment earlier, since it had been light enough outside. Now, as the sky darkens, so does the tiny room. The shadows get longer and longer, and when Tsukishima turns to face Yamaguchi, his face is hidden in the dark.

“I’d said it would be a long night for me,” Tsukishima says. “Is it going to be a long night for you?”

What little moonlight that’s managed to make its way through the window is shining right in Yamaguchi’s face. It feels like a spotlight, however weak it is.

“I’ve had a very long day,” he says. “I wouldn’t want the upcoming night to be long too.” He swallows, realizes it must be obvious to Tsukishima. “This is strange, maybe, but I feel like you and I, we could be great friends.”

In the silence that follows, Yamaguchi can hear Tsukishima breathe. Finally, Tsukishima gives a soft sigh, and Yamaguchi feels a hand wrap around his. “Oh?” Tsukishima says, and tightens his grip around Yamaguchi’s hand. “Me too. How strange.”

Suddenly, they’re plunged into total darkness.

“Ah,” Tsukishima says. He twists on the bed, a motion Yamaguchi only feels because they’re sitting so close. “We’ve entered a tunnel.”

Tsukishima lifts Yamaguchi’s hand and presses a kiss into the palm. “Here’s to our night, then,” he says, his mouth still on Yamaguchi’s palm. It tickles.

“Yes,” Yamaguchi says, and for a brief interlude he does not worry.


End file.
